All my friends are dead, because I have killed them. I left them hanged from gallows built with good intentions, made mockeries of life by the carrion birds I led to roost.
Lost in lust I've crossed from thought in search of more and left with naught but empty words and breathless seconds. My promises are furred with lies that lay their eggs betwixt your thighs and eat the rotten things I've left inside. For all my shining armor, I have ever been just night.
I've squandered all my precious gifts on tips of tongues and bloodied lips, turning virtuous into rapturous and lascivious like me. And ravenous to pleasure us and dip her teeth to feed.
She wreathes my body, ringed with flame like Jormungandr's coiled mass. She presses lips and hips like shards of glass and burns me all to ash. She steels my heart and steals my wrath to feed into her own, and polishes volcanic glass whereupon I've built my throne, still not exempt from throwing stones.
I reek like spoiled fruit, displaying bruises still unhealed, from conquests past and yet to cum, from shower stall to field. And once again, the need arisen brings all thought to heel, and spins a golden web of lies that throbs and screams and will not yield.
I'm a snake wearing charm like a three-piece suit. When I go to meet the gods, even Lopt will sneer in derision. I've infringed on sacred oaths, that writhe and rise like tepid smoke, a sewer immolation.
I want, like Hell, to atone for all the vile things I've been, but bad blood tinged with bile swells my veins.
Scrying and lying I spatter my woes to force-feed my serpent tempestuous holes. Plying the sea of your soft-hearted notions to pity the player of sublte emotion. Gasping, aghast as it dawned with the morn, the spawn of my seeding was soon to be borne. I spurred in her loins like a cataract-ridden bone.
Lingering love leads a life well allured, by callously breaking the laws of its Lord. Lying, alike, leads to leaving alone and listlessly longing for lightning, to strike from the skies and scatter the sties that litter my vision with old homicides wherein even Divinity fell for my crimes: She offered salvation that I turned aside and mocked as she went forth to ride.
Glowering while souring my glorious ways. Empower then devour in a gossamer haze. Deflowered by the hour of my opulent sway.
I have neither fear nor rage to shield me in her fragrant cage. Enlightenment alights, deranged upon my thorn-kissed head. I am crucified, but not to banish sin, I relish in the sick-sweet smell of death upon my skin.
Pasting over wetter dreams with better screams from bitter theives who worship my forbidden themes, all rife with rites and right to be, for shreiking shrike contention to celestial fiends.
I've murdered friends and malcontents and left the carcasses as grim portent. All spokes upon my great contempt. Slavering while savoring the soft meat at her throat, I tore a wolvish tour straight to the core. I left the soul to roam.
As if true love could bind her home.
Eden is a burned-out husk and all who live will die by dusk, as struck by this foul stroke of luck. These midnight chimes will cease to rhyme as silence reigns at last.
Apologetically, Apathetically Yours,
-S.R.
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